


Scary Thing

by hopingforaword



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biphobia, Casual Sex, Hanschen POV, Hanschen Rilow Appreciation Week, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Slut Shaming, M/M, No Dialogue, POV First Person, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Self Image
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8813506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopingforaword/pseuds/hopingforaword
Summary: The scary thing about happiness and love is that not everyone gets them. And the scary thing for me is the fairy tales teach us that it's the good people that do. And there's a lot of things I am, but a good person is not one of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first contribution to Hanschen Rilow appreciation week. Short ass one shot I wrote a while ago. Not happy, but there will be a happy contribution later.

The scary thing about happiness and love is that not everyone gets them. And the scary thing for me is the fairy tales teach us that it's the good people that do. And there's a lot of things I am, but a good person is not one of them. 

It's not like I'm the kind of bad person that does lots of exceptionally bad things. I drink and I smoke at sixteen and a half, but that's not exceptional. I only sold drugs that one time and shoplifted just that once and got arrested after Bobby's party two years ago but no charges. The rest of it is rumors created by reputation. The stuff about people is true though.

I know I'm lucky that I'm a guy. If I were a girl, my life would be hell. I'd never stop taking shit about all the broken hearts I've left behind me and do I really want to be  _ that  _ kind of girl and what will my future husband think? My future husband can go fuck himself if he really cares that much. I have to hear so much crap anyway, but I think people have gotten over their incredulity. 

I could give you some tragic reason about why I act like this. I could tell you about how my dad treats me, or all the biphobia I fought through growing up, or the senior guy who forced me down freshman year, or all the guys after him who treated me like I was dispensable. I could point fingers and blame other people but the most important part is I love it. I love sex and like I've already said, I'm not getting love in this life, so there's nothing stopping me. 

So when the brunette boy whose best friends have all already taken a turn with me shyly whispers in my ear, I nod. He meets me at my house and I notice how gorgeous he is. I can tell this is going to be fun. He could do what I do if he really wanted to. When he whispers that he's nervous, I go slowly and gently. The look in his eyes as he leaves is dangerous for us both. 

Like the asshole/idiot I am, I let him come back. I never let people come back, but for him I'd break all my rules, and I can already tell that he's dangerous. He's dangerous to himself. He doesn't realize how self destructive he is. My reasons for wanting him back are selfish. He is beautiful, and I want all beauty for myself. 

Four weeks later, he's in my room again and I'm about to tell him he can't come back. Both our chests are heaving and the post-orgasm rush of euphoria has always been my favorite time to deliver bad news. Call me an emotional sadist if you want. It's better than a lot of things people have said about me. Before I can say anything he gasps that he loves me. I laugh, and my stomach churns. This isn't what I should be doing. Anything else would be better. But like I said, I'm a bad person. I stand up, get dressed, throw his clothes at him, and go to sit on my couch. 

He comes down ten minutes later, eyes red but clothes on. He's smart enough to know what that laugh meant. He stares at me as he pulls his shoes on, and throws me one last searching glance before he slams my front door behind him. 

When I see him , two weeks and six people later, he’s wrapped around one of his friends. Their fingers are entwined and they’re laughing as he leans in to kiss the boyfriend. He never notices me watching. They break apart and smile before walking away.

I don't cry. 

People like me don't get to be sad. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at [hopingforaword.tumblr.com](hopingforaword.tumblr.com)


End file.
